


all the better

by jdphoenix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 07:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5240369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Malfoy?” she asked, worried he’d taken to sleepwalking. That <i>would</i> explain many of the signs Harry claimed as proof he’d taken the Dark Mark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all the better

“Harry bloody Potter,” Hermione muttered over the sound of her own footfalls. They were not _nearly_ loud enough to properly express her indignation. Where they should have echoed menacingly, informing anyone unfortunate enough to draw near that they had best turn the other way, they were instead soft and light and easily swallowed up by the shadows.

She had half a mind to do Voldemort’s work for him after the trouble Harry’d gotten himself wrapped up in tonight. He’d allowed his suspicions regarding Snape and Malfoy reach a new height and snuck into Snape’s office using that blasted cloak of his. Spying on a teacher was bad enough, but he’d sabotaged an unknown potion on pretense of finding out what it was meant to be - forcing _her_ to find out, more precisely.

“It won’t matter,” he’d said, handing over a jar half-filled with a fine dust. “Snape will see something’s off when he uses the mummy’s powder I switched it with and that’ll give us time to figure out what he’s been working on so secretively.”

_Mummy’s powder_. Not only did Harry replace an unknown ingredient for an unknown potion, he’d done so with an _extremely_ volatile look-alike. Worse, Hermione had discovered the original ingredient was even worse. Powdered caterpillar chrysalises, while easily procurable, were only used in a handful of incredibly advanced potions, potions like _Polyjuice_ , and that was by far the tamest. The results of the mix-up could be catastrophic, which was why Hermione was stomping (or attempting to, she still hadn’t gotten it quite right) down to the dungeons in the middle of the night. Snape had to be warned.

How she would accomplish that task without exposing Harry’s misdeeds, she had no idea whatsoever, but she was a bit more concerned with the possibility of Snape being blown to tiny pieces by an unstable concoction. (There was no possible way he’d graded their essays on historical use of the Unforgivables yet. She needed him to live at least another week.)

She turned sharply onto the barren hallway hiding the entrance to the Room of Requirement - either by design or luck, it was on the route that most effectively connected any end of the castle to another - and promptly froze in her tracks. At first, the dim light made the figure standing midway down the hall appear to be a ghost, but a more concentrated look confirmed he was quite solid. And no wonder she’d confused him with one of the dead, Malfoy had been looking increasingly pallid all year but between the shadows and the moonlight emanating from the painting he stood under, he looked positively ethereal.

Once identified, the sight of him filled her with indignation (how _dare_ he use his prefect privileges to sneak about after curfew!) but she quickly realized he was the solution to all her problems. She could ask him to deliver her warning to Snape and he’d be too distracted with lording the favor over her head to bother asking for specifics.

Bracing herself for the altercation, she made her way forward. His attention didn’t stir from the painting. _The Night Dance_ , it was called, and typically portrayed shadowy nymphs dancing under the light of the full moon, but they were missing this evening, probably off playing with that Dionysus on the third floor. Curious what about an empty painting could hold Malfoy’s interest so long, she was nearly to him before she noticed his state of undress. No robes, only a shirt and pants, and not even any shoes to protect against the chilly floor.

“Malfoy?” she asked, worried he’d taken to sleepwalking. That _would_ explain many of the signs Harry claimed as proof he’d taken the Dark Mark.

He didn’t move. The painted moon seemed almost to glow like the real thing, lighting up his already pale crown of hair. But Malfoy didn’t appear a saint. His messy hair (and surely he _must_ be asleep to go around looking like that) was more indicative of a broken halo than a true one.

“Malfoy,” she said a touch more sternly, hoping to rouse him.

His head snapped in her direction so swiftly she was surprised not to hear a crack. He was not sleepwalking.

His expressionless face was not calm or slack; there was no restfulness there. It simply was, almost like a mask of a face. The effect was only heightened by his eyes, big in their sockets and darker than she’d ever seen, darker than should be possible. ( _What big eyes you have._ ) A terrified laugh leapt up her throat and the shock of it spurred her to move.

She turned and ran, hoping the scant few meters between them would be enough of a lead. They were not. She barely made it three steps before he slammed into her, the force sending her to the ground and expelling the air from her lungs so she couldn’t even scream for help.

He’d always seemed small somehow. Perhaps it was different for those who’d grown up in wizarding society, but to a muggleborn rail thin and pale meant sickly. She’d never thought he could be so _heavy_ , but his warm weight was enough to hold her firmly in place while she struggled to draw air into her compressed chest.

His fingers dug painfully into her shoulders, and when she tried to move, to find space to breathe, a sound like a growl passed through his breast into her back. She felt the sharp line of his jaw behind her ear, so close she might have been able to count his molars. ( _What big teeth you have._ )

The stones were cold against her forehead and when she spoke, it seemed to swallow up her tiny plea. “Malfoy.”

His head moved against hers, its passing tugging at her hair and sending a painful jolt along her scalp. It finally let up, only to be replaced by an uneasiness deep in her gut when his face settled in the curls at the base of her neck. He drew in a long, savoring breath.

His body lifted off of hers far enough that she could draw in a full breath and twist her head to one side. His hands slid off her shoulders to brace on the ground and her vision fixed on his ragged cuff, torn all the way to the inside of his elbow. Through the frayed edges, she saw not the twisting mark Harry kept insisting must be there, but an ugly, uneven scar, like a chunk of his flesh had been torn away.

Caterpillar chrysalis was used in nearly all transfiguration potions, including Wolfsbane.

Malfoy’s forehead grazed her jaw as he bent again over her neck. This time, she felt the sharp edges of exposed teeth through the curtain of her hair and a deep, bone-shuddering fear swept through her.

With all her might, she threw her weight to one side, sending him toppling to the floor. While he scrambled to figure up from down, she completed the roll and pulled her wand from within her robes.

“ _Stupefy!_ ” she bellowed over his snarl, and just in time. She caught him mid-leap and the force of the spell sent him into the wall. He dropped like a discarded doll, landing in a heap on the floor.

Her heavy breaths shook her entire body, but her wand remained fixed on him until her heartbeat evened out. When she was certain he was truly unconscious, she stood on shaky legs and stumbled into the opposite wall. It was cool and solid at her back, leeching away the heat he’d left in her. Something like fear clawed at the inside of her throat, trying to find its way out. She swallowed it down.

Malfoy was a werewolf. All of Harry’s theorizing and spying and he’d somehow missed that Malfoy was disappearing at the full moon every month.

Only he _didn’t_ , she realized. She distinctly remembered the day after the last full moon (the day any sane werewolf would be sleeping off the stress of the transformation); Malfoy had stumbled into Arithmancy, looking half-dead from exhaustion but still alive enough to grin like an arse when he beat her to the answer on the day’s extra credit problem.

Some of the stiffness went out of Hermione’s spine. If he was going to all this trouble (nearly killing himself to hide the most obvious sign) and even somehow convincing the professors to allow it (for surely if Snape knew, Dumbledore must, and then all the rest), she couldn’t expose him on account of Harry’s meddling.

The substitution he’d made must have reversed the potion’s intended effects, resulting in a body that remained human while his mind completed the transformation unimpeded. And wasn’t _that_ a terrifying thought. Without the distraction of the physical changes, was Malfoy free to take full stock as his humanity slipped away?

She shook the thought away. The issue of the moment was what to do with him. She couldn’t very well leave an unconscious werewolf - even one without his claws and teeth - to sleep it off out in the open. She frowned at his prone body. Even unconscious as he was, there was something inhuman about him still.

A glance up and down the hall showed her what his intention had been. The door to the Room of Requirement was visible and slightly ajar. Inside, it was smaller and darker than she’d ever seen, with nothing but a pile of folded robes and a pair of shoes, and an overlarge pillow not unlike a dog bed. She closed the door firmly, not wanting to think about Malfoy curled up there and waiting for the sunrise. At least Lupin had had real beds in the Shrieking Shack.

It was terrifying to make the necessary passes along the hallway to summon a new room. Even if she sprinted from one end to the other, she still had to turn her back on Malfoy and could feel all over again that terror when she’d first turned to run from him.

Once it was done, however, she was quite pleased with what she found inside. The robes were still there on the floor, as was the pillow, but now it sat atop a real bed, which was enclosed in a cage with thick, iron bars. A quick _levicorpus_ and turn of the lock and Malfoy was safe as houses, leaving Hermione to the room’s other accouterments: a low table piled high with books and a plush armchair to while away the night reading in. She settled in, pulling Camelia Benevides’ _The Animal Within_ from the top of the stack.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_…It is, simply, basic human instinct. The werewolf wants, as do we all, to not only keep its family intact, but to make it stronger._

_This is why we also do not often see the reverse. Cases of werewolves biting their family members are few and far between simply because there is no cause to do so as they are already members of the pack._

“Granger?” Malfoy croaked.

Hermione set the book aside and watched while he pulled himself to his feet. Gingerly, this time. He’d roused nearly an hour after she locked him in and spent quite a lot of time throwing himself at the bars trying to get out. Eventually he’d calmed down (and lain on the hard floor over the soft bed) but not before doing himself no small amount of harm.

“Sorry,” she said, wincing in sympathy. “I wasn’t sure what else to do with you.”

“How did you even-” He cut off with a groan. His knuckles whitened around the bars and he rested his head gently between them. “What happened?”

“I’m afraid Harry sabotaged your Wolfsbane Potion - unwittingly.”

Malfoy let out a string of curses so foul she couldn’t help but giggle. Even the glare he fixed her with couldn’t quell her mood. She’d spent much of the night worrying the effects of the potion might be permanent, trapping Malfoy forever beneath the simple, violent mind of a wolf. He might have been a prat, but he didn’t deserve _that._  It was good to see him human again.

“You retained your human form but not your mind. I found you just outside in the hall.”

His gaze dropped abruptly, hunting her body for signs of harm.

“You didn’t hurt me,” she said quickly, glad she’d taken the time to heal her bruises while he slept.

“And you,” he said, sounding unconvinced, “just brought me back in here? Locked me up and spent the night reading beside my sickbed?”

She ignored the sharp twist to his words (he really was back to himself, wasn’t he?) and grabbed up the key to let him out. He rushed out and she wondered if some of the wolf’s claustrophobia was still with him.

“I’m going to kill Potter,” he snarled while he grabbed his clothes up from the floor.

“No. You won’t.” He threw her a questioning glance so she went on. “He didn’t know what he was doing; you know he’s rubbish at potions.” Unless he had a book full of cheats to help him along. That must have been why he’d come to her for help at all; with no idea what he was even looking at, the book was of no use to him.

Malfoy chuckled darkly in agreement and pulled the robes over his head. He shook out his sleeves to straighten them and the left fell down a little too low, giving her a brief glimpse of the scar and robbing her of her annoyance with Harry.

“If you do go after him,” she said solemnly, “I’ll have to tell him what the potion was.”

For the first time since waking, Malfoy looked as dangerous as he had last night. “And why would I believe you won’t tell him anyway?” he asked. “You’re always nipping at his heels, begging to be noticed by Saint Potter.” He was looming over her now, so close she could see the grey of his eyes, stormy and troubled but still utterly human.

She breathed deep, allowing the insult to roll off her back. “I won’t tell him,” she said coolly, “because it would be wrong to. I kept Lupin’s secret all third year and I’ll keep yours.”

The anger swept out of him and she waited patiently for him to make some sign of acceptance. He may have been a complete bastard, but she couldn’t imagine being in his position. If he needed further reassurance, she would gladly give it.

After long seconds, he ran his hand through his messy hair and somehow managed to settle it in only one pass. “Fine.”

She smiled brightly and turned on the spot, intending on retaking her seat to finish her book before breakfast, but was stopped by a firm hand around her arm. Unbalanced, she overcompensated and tumbled back against his chest. Instead of going out of her as it had before, her breath caught in her chest. Malfoy seemed similarly startled and dropped her arm as if burned. Neither of them moved away.

His breath stirred her hair and his warmth bled through her robes. The memory of last night, of being trapped beneath him with his teeth against her neck, flashed through her mind.

_Every recorded instance of a werewolf biting an enemy of his human self is either preceded by a violent altercation between man and beast or ended by the werewolf being driven off. It can be inferred from these records that the bite was inflicted solely as a means of attack which, ultimately, was meant to lead to death, not transformation._

_The werewolf does not choose to bite those he despises, but those he desires. It is, simply, basic human instinct._

“Are-” He cleared away the sudden roughness in his throat. Careful fingers brushed her hair to one side. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?”

His breath fell over the exposed skin of her neck and she jumped away, one hand flying to press her hair protectively down.

“I said you didn’t,” she said sternly. “I never said you didn’t try.”

He looked away, appearing shamed. And wasn’t _that_ new? Draco Malfoy ashamed of attacking her.

She turned away to snatch up her book, deciding she’d rather read in the common room than here.

“I’m sorry,” he said, so softly she had to look back and see his expression to know whether he’d spoken at all.

“It wasn’t you,” she said gently. It didn’t seem to comfort him as much as she intended. Unsurprising, as she didn’t believe it in the least.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [this tumblr post](http://ilosttrackofthings.tumblr.com/post/131917793644/analyzemyfandom-older-and-far-away) about the possibility of Draco being a werewolf.


End file.
